Set & Turn Single
by maguena1
Summary: Like all young ladies of her time, Georgiana must learn to dance, then keep on learning.


Title: Set & Turn Single

Author: Maguena, with much gratitude to my betas, Virtuella and SLWatson.

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane Austen's works.

Note: All criticism welcome!

_Pemberley, __September of 1803_

Georgiana knew full well how little girls should behave themselves, that crying was not it, and that she would certainly be punished. Yet the more Mrs. Leigh shushed her, the louder she cried. She was mortified with herself, she knew this only proved that she was not old enough to see the gentlemen and ladies dance, but she couldn't stop for bitter disappointment.

The faint sound of the door opening could not have the power to distract her. Her brother's voice did. He crossed the room to her swiftly and offered her his clean handkerchief in place of her sodden one. The cloth felt a little bit cool against her hot face, and she heard Fitzwilliam murmur soothingly to her. More than ever, she wanted to stop crying, but only managed to start on hiccups instead. She hadn't thought to see him at all this evening – the ball was for him, because he was leaving to study at Cambridge on the morrow. After breakfast, she wouldn't see him again for a long time, and he'd never been gone so long, and, and –

Somehow, the stiff formal coat under her cheek and his arm around her made these things fade, though they became no more tolerable. In a very few minutes, she stopped even sniffling and became embarrassed instead. But when she pulled back to look at him in trepidation, he looked nothing but concerned. That might mean a lecture coming, still, but tonight, she wouldn't even mind a lecture that much.

"She just wouldn't go to bed, Master Darcy; I've never seen her like this," Mrs. Leigh was saying. Georgiana faintly recalled her making that explanation a few times already.

"It is all right, Mrs. Leigh," he answered without looking away. "Dearest, what is the matter? Are you unwell?"

"I don't know," she said, surprised to find her own voice whispery. "I don't think I am, but I got upset because I couldn't go see the ball, and then I started to cry."

"That cannot be the whole of the matter – for you know that there will be many balls in your future," he tried to soothe her.

"But I practiced, you know I did!" He smiled, for of course he'd been her practice partner and had taught her the steps since she was four. From time to time, he'd obtain the sheet-music for her to practice on her piano; he'd inveigle their cousin, James, into dancing with Mrs. Leigh so that they could have the beginnings of a dance set. When there was no cousin visiting, he'd hand her off to an imaginary gentleman with the utmost gravity, and she would put her hand across into thin air, and turn, and set back into place opposite Fitzwilliam.

"I do know – you are quite accomplished already – and you know that little girls are not to be seen at assemblies. You greeted all the guests – you saw at least that." His speech was abstracted and he was obviously still wondering about her.

She had no answer to that, and admitted as much.

His tone gentled, "No, Georgiana, don't… I of all people know that greeting the guests is not the most entertaining aspect." There was a long pause, and then he stood up abruptly. "After all, if it is a matter of just seeing, that can be done without troubling anyone. Come with me."

Mrs. Leigh made to follow, protesting that it was past bedtime, but Fitzwilliam stopped her. "If you please, I will deliver her back to the nursery when the guests break for supper. Surely it can cause no harm to be late to sleep just once?" Mrs. Leigh was, in the end, persuaded.

Georgiana barely had time to put her damp and twisted gloves back onto her hands in some semblance of nicety before they arrived at the entrance to the little balcony overlooking the ballroom. Fitzwilliam put his finger to his lips, and eased open the door. The music swelled out – ah, so there were the musicians! Georgiana, who regularly had to be chastised away from her piano when it came time for other lessons, practically swelled with happiness. Not only was her brother letting her sneak in, but she would be in the best possible place.

He put his hand on her head in a gesture of "stay down," while he himself stayed behind the door frame. Georgiana nodded, and made sure that her head was below the balustrade. The door closed. The nearest musician winked at her over his flute, and she smiled shyly in return and settled back, far enough out of sight, but still able to see the ladies and gentlemen through the railings. Despite the hardness of the floor and the things that Mrs. Leigh might say about dirtying one's dress, she was in heaven. She had loved to hear the music, she had loved to fly through the steps herself, but it was something else to hear the music swelling around her while the figures below moved and swirled from pattern to pattern and the musicians' fingers danced over their instruments.

When the next dance began, she spotted her brother opposite a lady in a pretty yellow dress, whom she did not recognize. Earlier this evening, she had examined their first few guests with interest, but the rest had quickly blurred into a common impression of costly cloth and a few polite phrases said over and over. Georgiana craned her neck, but they were too far away for her to make out if the lady was very handsome. Georgiana supposed that she must be, because she could not imagine that her brother, the hero of her world, would be dancing with anyone less handsome than a princess. Similarly, she could not make out the expression on Fitzwilliam's face – if he liked her – still, she thought that there was something stiff and aloof in the way he was dancing that did not speak well of his partner to Georgiana.

He danced the same way with a couple of other ladies, though, and Georgiana started to wonder if perhaps that was the correct way for adults to dance together. The proprieties of adulthood were something that she struggled to learn better every day, but one thing she had grasped very early. Being an adult was very serious and difficult, but it was impossible to reason out why one thing was right and another not – one had to memorize it like a table of irregular verbs. Even Fitzwilliam had been unable to explain it to her, and he had spoken a few times of how strange he found certain proprieties, how unfathomable. Greetings particularly gave him trouble – they'd spent more than one evening puzzling over when one needed to ask about family, when to make a comment on the weather, and when to say "I am honoured." He'd even said to her, on a recent occasion, that one thing he hoped to learn at Cambridge was the reason why society was the way it was. When she asked, he gladly agreed to share with her everything that he found out on the subject. In the meanwhile, he said, they'd just have to do their best to act as befitted a gentleman and lady.

She could not hold on to such thoughts for very long and soon just watched again, lost in pleasure. Far too quickly, the dancing was over, and the musicians were putting down their instruments. The people below went into the dining room for their supper, and the man who'd winked at her earlier said, "They'll not be wanting us this next hour, is my guess. Are you hungry? We're going to eat summat ourselves."

She thanked him, but said that she needed to wait for her brother. Almost as soon as the musicians had filed out, she heard his footsteps. She got to her feet, and then froze on hearing another's footfalls. Those had only recently begun to be familiar to her – when her manners improved to the point that she had been admitted to the family table instead of eating in the nursery with Mrs. Leigh and Miss Dougherty.

"Fitzwilliam!" she heard through the door. "Fitzwilliam! Where do you go? The guests wish to begin their supper, and you have run off! Explain your behaviour."

"Georgiana was upset earlier tonight–"

Their father cut him off. "Georgiana. Yes, I thought it might be something of that matter. Your sister has a nurse to take care of her. Your guests have come on your account, and you neglect them when it is your duty as their host to see to them."

"She was crying, Papa, and would not be comforted by her nurse. Was I to stop my ears? The guests can wait five minutes."

"Fitzwilliam." Papa sighed. "You know I will never chastise you for devotion to your sister. Yet have you thought that perhaps she has learned that she has only to cry and you will come running? Surely you see how that will spoil her? She is not defenceless. Though she has not her mother, to our grief… she will always have nurses and governesses, our whole family to watch over her, and thirty thousand pounds to her name – and that gives a lot of protection in this world. While you – I wonder, sometimes, if you are entirely ready to come out of the nursery yourself, the way you keep returning there."

Georgiana imagined her brother's reaction all the more readily for not being able to see it. She was sick with guilt – she would never ask him for anything again, not if it meant that Papa would speak to him like that.

"As to that," Fitzwilliam spoke, somewhat unsteadily at first, then quite strongly, "you will need to see how I acquit myself in the wider world. I do not believe I have hesitated in entering it."

"Oh –" Their father seemed taken aback. "No, and I have never doubted that you will acquit yourself honourably. It is simply that a man will always have worries over his son, perhaps unfair ones, and you are not a woman to hover over a child so."

"I am perhaps not yet – " he began in a fixed, haughty tone that denied anything as a matter for worry.

"You endeavour, I know."

There was a pause, a happier one, she fancied.

"We are wasting time and the guests are no less hungry and impatient for waiting," Papa said with a bit of a smile in his voice. "Go check on your sister if you must, but be back as soon as you can."

"Thank you. I will."

Papa's footsteps retreated.

When Fitzwilliam opened the door, his expression was far away and distracted. They didn't speak as they went upstairs, though Georgiana was nearly bursting. Most of all, she was in confusion over why it was so wrong for her brother to come visiting her in the nursery when his lessons were done and her lessons were done to talk upon all sorts of things. The fabled Mama would have taught her everything, much better than any other person in the world, and would have loved her beyond anything, everyone assured her. Even Fitzwilliam said so. Still, Georgiana could not quite believe in such phantoms when a perfectly good reality stood before her. What was so wrong in him listening to her practice on her piano? Why shouldn't he come and look over the way she had made a mess of her drawing, and then spend the rest of the afternoon in a competition over who could draw most ill? It wasn't as if these things happened often, either. Not anywhere near as often as she would like.

If she could have, at her seven years of age, she might have figured out how to say that nurses and governesses (and the promised future London masters into the bargain) watched over her without once giving her the impression that they would take her side in anything. That her family was generally nice to her while they saw her, but that they almost never sought her out, not to play on the lawn or to go horse riding together. That of course, daughters are never much to their fathers, but she wished she could be. That Fitzwilliam had always been an exception to all of the above. That she loved him and was very much afraid that she would have to give it up as part of being an adult, in the same way that she would have to give him up as a dance partner once she became old enough to appear at balls.

In the nursery, as Mrs. Leigh went searching for her hairbrush, Fitzwilliam suddenly came back to the present. "Georgiana," he said, in a voice that was suffused, "good night, dearest. I will see you in the morning."

She didn't mean to, she'd meant not to make much of it, but it burst out. "You will write to me? You won't forget?"

His expression suddenly sparked. "I will, and you must write to me. Practice your letters."

She grinned back. "Of course I will practice my letters very diligently."

"An excellent resolution. Well…" He fell oddly silent.

"I'll miss you," she tried to put all that she hadn't said into those words.

"You'll be all right." There was just a hint of a question there, which he tried to answer in his next breath. "Mrs. Reynolds loves you as her own, and there are others who care for you, even if they will allow themselves to be distracted. I have already told George that he must tease you less when he plays with you, and he'll be here for another year at least."

"Yes, but I'll miss you so much. I like you best of anybody."

He leaned down to say softly to her. "I like you best of anybody, too."

They laughed, all the harder when Mrs. Leigh cast a puzzled glance their way. Then he kissed her hand as affectionately as if it were morning already, and was gone.

***

_London, __December of 1811_

Georgiana knew that when a friend, a distinguished figure of a woman, is being very kind to one, a fearful reaction can be strongly misinterpreted. No more would it usually be considered a terrible fate to receive introductions to new acquaintance at a small, intimate party of Miss Bingley's friends. Miss Bingley, for unfathomable reasons, seemed to have a genuine regard for her, an understanding of her awkwardness in society, and a wish to make her more comfortable. She ought to at least try to respond appropriately to that.

While Georgiana had often noticed that Miss Bingley's manner of speaking to her fluctuated in unpleasant ways depending on whether other people were present, she counted for far more Miss Bingley's acts of kindness. From the way that Miss Bingley would take her aside before any outing and describe all the people they might meet in a lighthearted manner that eased some of Georgiana's worries, to the way she tactfully suggested styles of clothing which made Georgiana feel graceful rather than top-heavy and awkward, there were a number of things that Georgiana owed to her. All this, and Georgiana did not even need to ask – Miss Bingley seemed to anticipate needs of that kind.

Though quite grateful for all these things, right now, Georgiana wished that Miss Bingley were less determined to help her find her footing in society. At the same time, she feared that Miss Bingley was about ready to give up on her. The brief, sharp glances that Miss Bingley sent her way spoke of severe exasperation, and the changes of tone in Miss Bingley's voice grew ever more frequent. They began to occur in a single sentence, even. "Georgiana," Miss Bingley said in her high tone with a smile that looked more like a grimace, and immediately dropped to something that sounded more like a threat, "tell us about," here her voice rose again and the smile seemed more genuine, "how you put shapes together to form designs." Georgiana's throat closed up for a moment on hearing that.

She swallowed and worked hard to speak well, but her explanation consisted of a great deal of stammering. Miss Bingley gave her another expressive look, and turned away to speak to one of the other women. Georgiana could not blame Miss Bingley; nor could she stop wanting to run away.

The choice to think about running away proved to be a bad one – it brought her mind right back to her terrible mistake. She fought back tears and struggled to listen to what Miss Evensham said about Italian fashion. Was Miss Evensham the one so far in debt that she had begun practising strict economies at the last? A sharp consciousness of her own faults made it difficult to remember. If she were ever to overcome her foolishness – if she were ever to be worthy of holding her own within this circle of assured and accomplished gentlewomen – if she were ever to stop feeling like an impostor and an imbecile –

Fitzwilliam had as much as said that he would like her to make new friends here in town, and she could see the truth of how that would help her get over her "disappointment" (oh, how worse than any lecture, such a blatant understatement!). However, she did not see how it would ever be – how she could be a friend. There must be something in her nature, she reasoned, that had allowed her to think for a moment that an elopement had anything of good about it – that _he_ had anything of good –

To make matters even worse, this was the moment when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies. She sat up straighter as Fitzwilliam glanced over her way. Her insides were crumbling.

She pressed her feet into the floor and clenched her hands together in her lap to stop the shaking.

He gave her a look which meant that he'd noticed anyway – concern that cut at her. She'd never meant to be so much trouble. She despised herself for being sometimes angry at him – for the inherent contradiction of both wanting him away and wanting him to be with her more often. And when he was there, she did not know if it was worse when he was brooding and restrained or when (more and more rare) he was smiling and affectionate. A mixture could reduce her to tears.

With the twin goals of banishing her self-perceived weaknesses and of trying to please him, she continued to make faint attempts at conversation. It went over well primarily due to the kindness of the other women, who answered her on each attempt, no matter how awkwardly begun, even on topics which she could see held little interest for them. She saw them trying to hide an exchange of puzzled glances amongst themselves, however, and she had not a doubt of being discussed among Miss Bingley's acquaintance the way she had often heard Miss Bingley discuss her acquaintance.

Someone suggested music – the suggestion was rapidly taken up. Georgiana, torn between a love of playing and a terror of being heard, did not have the strength to promote herself into taking the first turn at the pianoforte. Another, more forthcoming lady did, and the music began. In admiring Miss Linnet's skilful playing, Georgiana began to relax unawares.

It took but a little while until someone proposed dancing. As there were only two gentlemen to seven ladies, Georgiana thought that it would not be remarked if she sat out the dance, but she was mistaken. Miss Allen, who could never in her life have been accused of wishing to be sitting down, proposed that some of the women should dance with each other. With one lady at the piano, there were exactly enough people for four couple. The drawing room was just large enough for a round dance, if they moved some furniture out of the way, which the gentlemen and servants swiftly did. Miss Allen put forth that she knew Peppers Black and similar dances well, so she would call the figures for those who had forgotten, which removed Georgiana's last possible objection.

Fitzwilliam crossed to her before the dance began, and in a low voice, so that the others would not hear, inquired whether she would find it agreeable to stand up with Mr. Bingley, assuring her that the latter danced well and would do all to put her at her ease.

Mortified at being thus found out, she gave a half-voiced assent, scarcely knowing the room around her. Her brother gave her what was almost a helpless look, and went to propose the scheme to his friend, who happily agreed, and counterproposed that Darcy should distinguish Miss Bingley similarly. No graceless look or word escaped Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana wondered again why he went to such trouble for her.

Mr. Bingley came over to take her arm and smiled at her, then led her enthusiastically into the cleared space before anyone else. Georgiana, who had been hoping that they would at least be one of the side couples, not the top, breathed out silently. Mr. Bingley smiled at her again in a friendly manner, but Georgiana could see the beginnings of puzzlement on his face, too. Worse, Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley came to stand at the bottom. It might have been well-balanced, in terms of the positions of men and women, but it meant that Georgiana ended up directly opposite from her brother, at a moment when she scarcely dared to lift her eyes at him.

Her hands were cold in their gloves as they went round; she hoped that no one would notice.

She almost missed Miss Allen's next instruction, to set and turn single, but the familiar cues from other dancers helped, and she covered fairly gracefully by quick footwork in the setting step. As she turned, she was grateful for the very brief respite of not having to guard her expression from him, but she was no less grateful in the next instant for completing the turn, and knowing that she still had his concern.

Mr. Bingley took her hand again for the forward and back, and he was just as graceful and assured in leading her as promised. Even his expression had cleared, and he now looked as if he liked her again. He could not, however, ease her mind about the fact that her brother was watching over her – no doubt with hopes of her recovering to her past self this instant, or the next. Wearied, she started fantasizing about asking to be taken home this very moment, and lying down in a darkened room for the rest of the evening. She knew her brother would do as she asked – without question, without regard for his own inconvenience or what his friend would say. Nonetheless, she took pains to return his care and the Bingleys' favour by dancing well and not disgracing anyone, least of all herself.

***

_Pemberley, __December of 1813_

Georgiana knew that she would probably never be entirely comfortable in a crowd, even such a merry one as this. By this time, however, she knew herself to be equal to the challenge, and managed it very well. Occasional breaks to sip whichever drinks remained cool and to observe quietly, as she was presently doing, were all that she needed to refresh herself.

The whirl of dancers often drew her eye, and although from the ground, she could only see part of the patterns they formed, memory and imagination combined to show her the full beauty of it. She caught glimpses of Fitzwilliam going down the dance with Elizabeth, talking and smiling together, and involuntarily, she would smile too. Georgiana always liked to see her brother and her new sister happy – the more so because, even though they often were happy, she had not yet lost a sense of surprise that it could be so, or that she could be happy, too. Not after the turmoil of the past few years.

They did not leave her to herself, as she'd feared – she had not become worthless. Instead, she had more – more of discussing ideas that seemed to come oftener to her now that she did not spend her days counting over old problems, more of warmth, more of feeling like she could hold her own and be more than welcome. A great many changes, not always easily accepted. Yet now, she could enjoy herself while attending a ball. Though she would always know her debt to the many people who had first helped her face society, it had been Elizabeth whose guidance most suited her awkwardness. Elizabeth alone did not treat social interactions like work at which one could easily fail, but as a kind of word game that had no unalterable rules. With such an example before her, Georgiana's trepidation had slowly transformed to an interest in seeing how well she could do each time. Though she could not yet do it for long, she looked forward to becoming better at it.

Continuing to observe those around her, she saw her cousin James ("the Colonel," she should call him, but could not bring herself to do so), in quiet conversation with Kitty, who looked at him with wonder. No doubt, Kitty would be importuning James for a dance shortly, and James would give in with as much grace as he used to give in to dancing with Mrs. Leigh, but they did look pleased well enough with each other. There was plenty else to catch her eye, and her ear no less. The musicians surpassed themselves with every melody, and she was lost; her foot tapped faintly in time to the music.

The dance ended and many people moved towards the refreshments table. Georgiana poured herself another half a cup of syllabub and stood aside. Mr. Renford, on seeing this, seemed to abandon thoughts of refreshment, and instead came over to ask her to dance the next two dances with him. Such a pleasure it had been to dance the first two of the evening with him (and the contrast he afforded to Mr. Fordyce, who also seemed to be moving to this side of the room), that she gladly assented. Mr. Renford, who was nowhere near self-assured except when on the dance floor, expressed his gratitude in a manner stifled with surprise and pleasure. He then begged to know if there was anything he could do for her, and on hearing no, fled until the start of the dance.

Fitzwilliam was among the refreshment-seekers, but trailed back, since as the host he would not put himself before the guests. On witnessing that exchange, he smiled and moved to wait by her. "Are you enjoying yourself, Georgiana?"

"Yes, very much." She hesitated, and then dared to tease him – "And yes, of course I would wish for you to check into any of the gentlemen who might wish to pay a call on me tomorrow."

Her brother looked as if he were caught between vexation and laughter. "I thank you for the kind permission."

Georgiana, who was still unsure of how much could be permitted from a younger sister, nor of how much such matters might change now that she was nearly grown, nor of how much certain past events might be in his mind, decided to add something in a more serious tone. "Truly, I would wish it. I know that you would be most careful with… with my happiness."

He answered in the same way, "I do not know that I could add much to your own assessment of your happiness, but I would assuredly try."

The simple trust in those words, the acknowledgment that she would not be easily mistaken again, made for a deep sense of delight and assurance, and she could only smile a little in answer. Fitzwilliam still understood her, and entered into lightly teasing her on the subject of Mr. Renford and Mr. Fordyce's respective merits, then the subject of giving herself more chance for comparisons by coming out formally in the new year. This was a happy subject indeed, dropped only when Mr. Renford came back to claim her for the dance.

As they took their place, she saw Charles (she was doing rather better with the transition from "Mr. Bingley" than with the one from "James") and Jane rejoin them, ready to dance again. The couple had been walking out in the garden, and if anyone had murmured that it was shocking for the guests of honour (for the ball marked their moving into the neighbourhood) to absent themselves for any part of the evening, such talk was not permitted at Pemberley, and swiftly quelled by whichever of the Darcys was nearest.

Indeed, no one seemed to have any cause for complaint – all were reasonably entertained. Georgiana and her partner moved down the dance, and as she spun, singly and together with others, casting off and coming back, crossing paths with people very dear to her, the future seemed glorious.


End file.
